Joseph L. Kagle, Jr. Peace Essays

“There are times in the space of a year when the world rolls to a brief stop, celebrates those things that make us human and help us understand that we are not alone. There are times when the human spirit bubbles to its best surface and joins hands with others around us in gleeful merriment and joy. There are times when it is better to give than get, it is better to serve than be served. There are times when love and peace prevail and spill over into the world. One of those times for peace on earth in the Western countries is Christmas. For me and my family, one of those times was December of 1964, one year after Camelot seemed to die with the assassination of President Kennedy.”

A CHRISTMAS LETTER

     Where can I begin? It has been hard to put ideas into concrete form – that is, into language – in the last months.  My head has been filled with images that do not lend themselves to words, but also painting has been coming slowly also.  That though is different.  Painting is undergoing a step ahead that takes the pressure of time to mold.  Right now, I am only pleased with a small segment of my work.  What comes next must be better.  That is getting harder and harder.  It is the taking the filling quality of time to achieve.

     The death of the president last November had a much more profound effect upon me than I realized then.  It reinforced the direction of my work, but for a time derailed my basic optimism.  Just now, I could not remember how to spell optimism; therefore I looked it up and was surprised by something I already know.  Pigeonhole knowledge! Not a working knowledge.  It said “a. The doctrine that the world is the best possible place.  b. The doctrine that reality is essentially good.  C. The doctrine that the good of life overbalances the pain and evil of it.  2. An inclination to put the most favorable construction upon actions and happenings, or anticipate the best possible outcome.”  After the assassination, it seemed to be all empty – this optimism.  I have always believed in two paradoxical things.  Man shaped his destiny, man shapes nature or*and* is shaped by it (truth lies somewhere between or and and), man is the creator of his path and the slave of his creation, and he is the best of all the best of worlds.  This is the hard thing to stomach after your guts get ripped, but still the idea goes beyond the act.  Kennedy’s death is not the end of an idea but a man’s like.  The hard thing for me is that:  (as one letter said after his death) he was human enough to be one of us and yet strong enough to lead us.  The day he was killed optimism got kicked in the teeth.  It was brought brutally in front of the mirror of reality and no one, however they hid their eyes, could miss the reflection. The doctrine that reality is essentially good was staggered.  Both Anne and I have felt this deeply, but Anne can release herself with tears.  With me there are no more tears to come after those four days for this man…this symbol.  He was young, vigorous and alive.  Mostly alive.  In all the human qualities of weakness and strength that that implies.  But I knew him as an image of my generation, whether he was or not.

     It is last afternoon, along the East Lake Road, with the sun a vague remembrance in orange and blue, a gray mist settles over the lake and the farmland.  This is the most beautiful area of the country.  Color comes through the gray as an emerging force, the energy of ahinsa.

    And as Christmas is a time for the child’s merriment, so is it a time for joy for the adult.

                                    Lo, now is come our joyful’st feast!

                                                Let every man be jolly,

                                    Eache room with yvie leaves is drest,

                                                And every man be jolly,

                                    Now all our neighbors’ chimneys smoke.

                                                And Christmas blocks are burning:

                                    Their ovens they with bak’t meats choke

                                                And all their spits are turning.

                                                            Without the door let sorrow lie,

                                                            And if, for cold, it hap to die,

                                                            Wee’le bury’t in a Christmas pye,

                                                            And evermore be merry.

          And as I remember, Christmas was a time for songs. But most of all Christmas is a time to give of “yourself.”  A deep, good friend of mine said to me once that he gave me a thing that he wanted himself because that was the only gift worth giving.

          Therefore, I give you these words that I love: “Everyday is time to live.”

     “In the time of your life, live- so that in that good time there shall be no ugliness or death for yourself or for any life your life touches.  Seek goodness everywhere, and when it is found, bring it out of its hiding-place and let it be free and unashamed.  Place matter and in flesh and least of values, for these are the things that hold death and must pass away.  Discover in all thinks that which shines and is beyond corruption.  Encourage virtue in whatever heart it may have been driven into secrecy and sorrow by the shame and terror of the world.  Ignore the obvious, for it is unworthy of the clear eye and the kindly heart.  Be the inferior of no man, nor of any man be the superior.  Remember that every man is a variation of yourself.  No man’s guilt is not yours, nor is any man’s innocence a thing apart.  Despise evil and ungodliness, but not men of ungodliness or evil.  These, understand.  Have no shame in being kindly and gentle, but if the time comes in the time of your life to kill, kill and have no regret.  In the time of your life, live- so that in that wondrous time you shall not add to the misery and sorrow of the word, but shall smile to the infinite delight and mystery of it.

         “Everyday is a time to remember.”

            “I think continually of those who were truly great,

            Who, from the womb, remembering the soul’s history

            Through corridors of light where the hours are suns,

            Endless and singing, Whose lovely ambition

            Was that their lips, still touches with fire,

            Should tell of the Spirit clothed from head to foot in song.

            And who hoarded from the Spring branches

            The desires falling across their bodies like blossoms.

            What is precious, is never to forget

            The essential delight of the blood drawn from ageless spring

            Breaking through rocks in world before our earth.

            Never to deny its pleasure in the morning simple light

            Nor its grave evening demand for love.

            With noise and fog, the flowering of the Spirit.

            Near the snow, near the sun, in the highest fields,

            See how these names are feted by the waving grass

            And by the streamers of white cloud

            And whispers of wind in the listening sky

            The names of those who in their lives fought for life,

            Who wore at their hearts the fire’s centre.

            Born of the sun, they traveled a short while toward the sun

            And left the vivid air sighed with their honour.

         But most of all, everyday, “Christmas is a time to say: CHRISTMAS GREETINGS.”

FROM A FAIRY TO A CHILD

                                               Lady dear, if Fairies may

                                                    For a moment lay aside

                                               Cunning tricks and elfish play

                                                      ‘Tis at happy Christmas-tide.

                                               We have heard the children say-

                                                    Gentle children, whom we love-

                                               Long ago, on Christmas Day,

                                                     Came a message from above.

                                               Still, at Christmas-tide comes round,

                                                    They remember it again-

                                               Echo still the joyful sound,

                                                      ‘Peace on earth, good-will to men.’

                                               Yet the hearts must child-like be

                                                    Where such heavenly guests abide.

                                               Unto children, in their glee,

                                                     All the year is Christmas-tide.

                                               Thus, forgetting tricks and play

                                                    For a moment, Lady dear,

                                               We would wish you, if we may,

                                                     Merry Christmas, glad New Year.

                                    Lewis Carroll, Christmas 1887

                    “Christmas is a time to celebrate true peace on earth and goodwill to ALL mankind.”